Catacomb

by Madeleine Roux

  Oliver pulled back the curtain over the window, revealing a man whose face was hidden behind a crude rabbit mask. The candles in the window glinted off a sliver of silver in the rabbit-man’s hand, a bone saw that glittered with a hundred sharp teeth.

  Dan stumbled to his feet, shouting, but it was too late, the man was already sprinting away from the window, rushing to the door.

  “The door!” Oliver screamed. “Brace the door!”

  Dan and Jordan slammed into the door together just as the knob rattled and turned. The weight of one adult, then two, then three rocked back against them from the other side. Sabrina flew to the window, looking out into the street.

  “Shit, there’s too many of them!”

  “How many?” Oliver shouted back. He had disappeared behind the counter, tossing first a hunting rifle and then a baseball bat to Abby.

  “Six, I think,” Sabrina called back.

  “We can’t hold them,” Jordan grunted. Both he and Dan cried out as the back of a hammer cracked through the wood, showering them in splinters. “We really can’t hold them!”

  “Lock it and run!” Oliver vaulted over the counter, taking the rifle from Abby and leaving her with the bat. “Go! I’ll hold them off while y’all get out the back.”

  Dan didn’t need telling a second time. He had already thrown the deadbolt, but he jammed his hand against it again and turned the smaller lock on the knob, then grabbed Jordan and hauled him away from the door.

  “Go!” Oliver took Sabrina by the arm and spun her around, pushing her toward the back door. She hesitated, but Abby pulled her through the curtain and into the storeroom. Fumbling for his phone, Dan managed to dial 911 with trembling fingers, his thumb hitting the call button just as the first rifle shot split the air.

  “Who the hell was that?” Jordan yelled, following Sabrina, who had sprinted ahead to lead them safely through the side door. She ducked low as they ran, and the others did the same, flinching whenever another shot went off.

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina replied. “Robbers ain’t stupid enough to come this early in the night.”

  “Yes, I’d like to report a break-in,” Dan barked into his phone. “In progress. The address? It’s, um . . .” He tapped Sabrina on the shoulder and then thrust the phone into her hands. “Tell them where we are.”

  The second the phone was out of his hands, Dan felt his courage collapsing. What if they made it outside only to be attacked there? The police would take a while to get there, more than enough time for Oliver to run out of bullets. The gunfire was too loud, too jarring, the sound tearing through his body and making his teeth rattle.

  Sabrina paused at the back door, finishing the call and handing Dan back his phone. “Quiet. Let me check if it’s clear.”

  Behind him, he could hear one of the girls from the séance crying. It was too dark, and he couldn’t see where the muffled little sobs were coming from. He could feel Jordan at his back and Abby ahead, tremors gripping her every few seconds while they waited for Sabrina’s signal.

  Then they were out, and while the open air felt less claustrophobic, it also felt more vulnerable.

  “How many bullets are in that rifle?” Dan asked, shuffling over to the edge of the building. He peered into the alley, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it empty. “We have to go back and help him somehow.”

  “No, no way,” Jordan whispered, frantic. “I vote for run like hell.”

  “Jordan’s right. What are we going to do with a baseball bat?”

  “We can’t just leave him!”

  Oh God, it was like Micah’s death all over again. Oliver wasn’t going to make it, and Dan would spend the rest of his life with the man’s death on his hands. Why did history keep repeating itself?

  Maybe the others would run, but Dan was sick and tired of feeling hunted. He darted down the alley, not knowing or caring if his friends were following. There was no plan, not yet, but a plan would come when he saw what was left of the store. Sirens whined and grew louder, screaming in from the street to the right. The cops had mercifully arrived quicker than he’d thought. Clinging to the brick wall, Dan listened to the rifle shots cease, shortly followed by the sound of pounding footsteps.

  That’s when he saw them: six masked figures, all sprinting across the avenue to the opposite sidewalk, and from there into a narrow alley.

  Screw the plan. Keeping his distance, Dan chased after.

  It wasn’t until he careened into the far alley that he heard footsteps at his back. Jordan and Abby. He pushed his legs harder, running after the masked attackers before they could fade into the crowded gloom of one of the main streets. They were at least four blocks from Oliver’s shop now, and Dan was gaining on them as quickly as he dared. He waited behind a Dumpster until he felt certain they were too far ahead to notice him. That was when Abby and Jordan caught up.

  “Are you crazy? You can’t take these people on.” Jordan made a grab for Dan’s sleeve, but he dodged.

  “I’m not trying to fight them, Jordan. I’m not an idiot. I just want to see where they go.”

  “Why? So you can go back later and get yourself killed then?”

  “No, so I can figure out who the hell they are.” Dan wasn’t going to argue and he wasn’t going to raise his voice and risk being seen. He broke into a run again, modulating his speed to try to keep at least a block between him and his targets.

  They vanished around a corner, and when Dan turned it, slowly, carefully, he found himself at a fork in the alley, where an ancient grate in the cobblestone road vented a plume of steam. Dan swore under his breath, checking down both potential escape routes. They were short lanes, and already empty. A few ambient footsteps echoed down from the right fork, and he veered that way, hoping he’d made the right call.

  The short alley branch dumped him out onto a wide, two-lane road, one that was well kept and tourist friendly. A bright café sat across the street, its doors closed for the night but a string of fat Christmas bulbs still twinkling in the window. He listened again for the footsteps, trying to ignore the sound of Abby and Jordan gasping for air behind him.

  He hooked around the slender, two-story building that housed the café. Dan drew up short just as he rounded the corner, peering down a new alley to see the last of the figures pulling off his mask and ducking into a side door. A ragged canvas awning hung over the door, protecting what looked like a downward staircase that led into the building’s basement.

  “Gotcha,” Dan murmured. He wiped blindly at the sweat on his forehead, not noticing until then that his shirt was soaked through.

  Jordan and Abby caught up to him again, and he motioned for them to be silent, pointing to the door to indicate where the people had gone inside.

  “I hope you realize how lucky you are,” Jordan whispered. “What is this place?”

  Dan waited a few seconds, until he was sure that the people weren’t immediately coming back out. Hopefully they were in the clear now.

  “Let’s find out,” he whispered back.

  He walked slowly out into the alley. The front of the building looked completely out of place in the ugly alley; the façade was recently power washed and pristine, painted a bright, chalky white.

  Beside the staircase down to the basement, a three-step walk-up led to a silver door. Dan took out his phone and snapped a picture, then dropped a pin on his map app so he could save the address. Next to the silver door, a sign advertising Rampart Street Funerary Home had fallen at an angle, a huge For Sale sticker tacked to the bottom.

  Who knew how long that sticker had been there. Clearly, this funerary home was still in business.

  Dan’s phone buzzed twice in his pocket, breaking the paralysis that had descended over all three of them as they neared the safer part of town close to Uncle Steve’s apartment. Dan was relieved to find they were texts from Sabrina.

  “Funerary home, Dan. Bodies, Dan. Bones, Dan.”

  “Yes, thank you, Jordan, I know,” Da
n said, locking eyes with him.

  “No, I mean seriously. What the hell? Tell me we are not being followed by freaky bone doctors.”

  “Sabrina says Oliver is okay, in case you were wondering. Just shaken up, and he might have dislocated his shoulder firing the rifle so much,” Dan reported. His hands were still shaking, but at least none of them had gotten hurt.

  “Screw them. We were attacked by masked crazies because we were at that damn store. There’s no way that’s a coincidence!” Jordan sliced his hand through the air, but Abby remained silent, still clutching her files. “And God! What if they track this back to us through Oliver and Sabrina? This shit with them has got to stop. They are nice but toxic.”

  “They were attacked, too,” Dan pointed out quickly. “And it’s Oliver’s shop that got the worst of it.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Oliver’s shop. None of this terrible crap started happening until we met those two! From now on we are staying far, far away from them. The councilman tried to warn you, Dan. They’re bad news. I don’t know if they’re bad luck or into some bad stuff or have bad juju or what, but I’m done.” With that, they lapsed into silence again.

  Dan didn’t expect Abby to come to his side. He wasn’t even sure he had a side. Was it Oliver they’d wanted or him? That was maybe the only thing he knew for sure—that one of them was the target. Sweaty, miserable, and still trembling, he glanced surreptitiously at his friends; yet again he had gotten them in danger. Maybe it was time to follow Jordan’s advice and cut Oliver and Sabrina out of his life.

  But they still have that box.

  Damn it. Would one more day really make the difference? He could go alone to Oliver’s shop and get the box, say his good-byes, and that would be that. At least then he would feel like less of a coward for leaving Oliver to deal with Micah’s relentless messages alone, when Dan had had way more to do with Micah’s death than Oliver had.

  Dan felt exhaustion dragging his head down as they finally reached Uncle Steve’s block. Police sirens blipped and chirped, blue and red lights reflecting in alternating patterns along the buildings. At first, Dan assumed they were just holdovers from the break-in at Oliver’s, but the lights weren’t going anywhere. The trio circled back to approach the building from the north, watching traffic clog the road as everyone tried to maneuver around the police cars parked on the sidewalk.

  “No,” he heard Jordan murmur. “No, that’s not his house. It can’t be his house.”

  Jordan pushed Dan and Abby aside, darting between them and sprinting down the sidewalk. Three police cars vied for space in front of Uncle Steve’s door, and worse, an ambulance was parked just a few yards away. Exhaustion forgotten, Dan ran after his friend, Abby close behind.

  “Dan, if anything’s happened to him . . .” She grabbed Dan’s wrist hard and squeezed.

  “God, I know. What do we do?”

  “Just stay strong for Jordan. That’s probably the only thing we can do.”

  “That’s my uncle!” Jordan was shouting. One of the officers had intervened to keep him from crossing the flimsy barricade of police tape. “Let me through! That’s my uncle and I want to see him!”

  Abby tried a different tactic, calmly putting a hand on Jordan’s shoulder and smiling up at the police officer. “Can you tell us what happened, officer? We’re staying with Steve Lipcott. Our things are inside if you need to verify that.”

  The officer, a short, stocky man with a sallow complexion and beady eyes, stared at them for a long moment from under his cap. He scribbled something on the clipboard in his hands and then nodded to the space behind him. “You’ll have to wait a moment. Can’t let you through without checking that out.”

  “Of course,” Abby said, using that same calm voice. “We understand.”

  “No, we don’t!” Jordan shrieked. “Is he okay? Jesus, just tell me if my uncle’s okay!”

  “He’s fine. A little roughed up, but he’ll make it. Ambulance is taking him to Ochsner Baptist. You can get a lift over there after answering a few questions, all right?”

  That was enough to keep Jordan from barreling through the police tape. They watched the stretcher with Steve’s blanketed and still form being popped into the ambulance. Abby and Dan put their arms around their friend.

  “I’m so sorry, Jordan,” Dan murmured. The knot in his stomach told him this was his fault. It seemed like the worst possible answer to his question—apparently, he and Oliver were both targets.

  “Don’t talk to me right now. Just don’t say a word, okay?” Jordan shied away from Dan’s arm, so Dan let it drop.

  “You can’t blame Dan for this,” Abby said softly.

  “Oh really? I can’t? Watch me.”

  “Jordan—”

  “You better hope this doesn’t have anything to do with your stupid new friends,” Jordan added in a vicious whisper. “Or those bone artists will be nothing compared to what I do to you.”

  “Dan, he doesn’t mean that.” Abby turned to him with a sad half smile, one he couldn’t return.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Rolling his eyes in disgust, Dan left his friends huddling beside the police tape, waiting for the officer to question them. He walked over to an empty space on the sidewalk and sat down hard on the pavement, letting his head droop low over his knees. Not for the first time in their short, intense friendship, Dan wondered if his friends were about to turn on him.

  Jordan’s words echoed like gunshots in his head.

  He wanted to get up and leave, wander, let Jordan cool off, and hope that he realized Dan never wished anything but the best for them, even if he often ended up bringing about the worst. What had Jordan called Sabrina and Oliver? Nice but toxic? Wasn’t that so like Dan, too?

  Sighing, he rested his chin on the back of his hands and gazed out blindly at the street. The clouds hanging over the city felt ready to burst, and the tension of it resonated in his back. His meandering attention fell on the building opposite Uncle Steve’s, landing on a smear of white paint. Something winked at him from memory, an image that almost went unremembered in his exhaustion. Hadn’t there been graffiti on that wall when they arrived?

  Standing, he glanced to see if his friends were still on the sidewalk, then he jogged across the traffic-clogged street, inspecting the smudgy white stain left behind on the bricks. He touched it lightly, his fingers coming away with a gritty residue. It wasn’t paint at all, but some kind of heavy chalk. He remembered a skull there and some French phrase, though he couldn’t conjure the exact words. He shivered, thinking of that stark, white rabbit face staring at him through the window.

  “Dan! Dan, what’s going on? The police need to talk to us!” Abby called at him from across the street, waving frantically.

  He nodded and backed slowly away from the wall, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He started a new text to Oliver, feeling a lump of anxiety grow in his throat.

  “I need you to check something,” he wrote. “Look across the street. What do you see?”

  “Rooms were tossed, but just the one laptop was taken. No jewelry, no other electronics—not even the other computer. Care to tell us what was on that laptop?”

  Dan’s knee bounced compulsively as he sat in the hospital waiting room. A hand grabbed him by the thigh, stopping his leg; he had been shaking the entire bank of chairs. Abby’s dark, drawn face blinked back at him as he fought the grip of her hand for a second. Then he let his leg relax.

  “What are you thinking?” Abby asked quietly. A policeman was still with them, distracted with his phone in the corner of the room while they waited on news of Uncle Steve’s condition.

  Jordan was a wreck, pacing nonstop, crushing a soda can in his hand. Dan could hear the quiet scrape-scrape-scrape as Jordan worried his lip piercing with his tongue. The sound gnawed at him, dry and clacking.

  “You know what I’m thinking.” Dan let his eyes slide from the ceiling to her wan face. “They took the laptop with Jordan’s emails to Maisie.” />
  “I don’t understand any of this.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes, smudging her eye makeup until it looked like she’d been crying. “The important thing is, Jordan will come around. Deep down he knows this isn’t your fault, but right now he just needs someone to lash out at, someone to blame.” She put a comforting hand on Dan’s back, rubbing his shoulders. “Give him time.”

  “I plan to.” He leaned into her hand, finding it the only thing that kept him from tearing his hair out completely. “And I also plan to get some answers.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” she said. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it. Maisie Moore shared those articles about my parents, and then gets hit by a car and killed. My parents were arrested for messing around in some company’s secret affairs, then they die in a car wreck, too. Now, in the same night that the Bone Artists try to kill us at Oliver’s shop, Uncle Steve gets attacked. We’re not the only ones trying to tie up loose ends, Abby. For those guys, we are the loose ends.” He straightened his back, watching Jordan’s feet go back and forth across the linoleum.

  “Dan . . .”

  Scrape-scrape-scrape.

  “I won’t do anything reckless,” he said.

  “Make that a promise and I’ll feel a lot better.”

  Dan swiveled to meet her eyes, feeling her hand go still on his back. She really was so beautiful to him, and feeling her there next to him, long-suffering and understanding, made it that much harder to say the next two words.

  “I promise.”

  Scrape-scrape-scrape.

  The door to Uncle Steve’s room opened and a harried-looking nurse appeared. She gave Jordan a careful smile and gestured to the room behind her. “You can go in now, but he needs his rest.”

  Jordan barreled past her and Abby stood.

  “Coming?” she asked.

  “Just after I make a quick phone call. I want to let Paul and Sandy know what happened.”

  It was the second lie he had told in as many minutes.